The Collected Letters
by sniperrifle001
Summary: A series of letters, diaries, and first hand encounters, written and recounted by Matthew and Mary of the final years of Downton. AU, events may deviate from the show (as I see fit).
1. Foreword and Preface

**The Collected Letters **

**of **

**Mary Crawley, Countess of Grantham  
**

**and **

**Matthew Crawley, 7th Earl of Grantham**

_Sybil Branson_

_To my darling niece and nephew, who asked me of the greatest story of Downton; this is my answer._

* * *

**Foreword**

While in my time it had always been, for me, an object of disdain. And while I do not deny the fond moments I have scribed to my memories, I do admit now, how much I have overlooked in the years after. The story of Downton, as I had known it, as I had seen it, as I had shaped it, in my own little way, was a grand tale as any I have read. When Miss Branson came to me with the manuscript for this collection, I was filled with great gladness and nostalgia. I am proud to say that I knew the late Lord Grantham and Mary, Countess of Grantham. And I can only say that I feel as I know them more now.

_-Sir Charles Ellis, author  
(footman of Downton Abbey, 1940-1951)_

**Preface**

You can imagine my sadness as my family and I watched as the doors of Downton were locked for good. The memory of that day, its vividness, its emotions, has never left me. August 15th, 1953. Aunt Mary looked over at me with her fiery eyes; although not quite as fiery anymore, and smiled. At that moment I had realized that she had given up. _Pyrrhus would've been satisfied._ She had said to me a couple of times in her life. I, then, knew what she meant.

Uncle Matthew had saved Downton but the battle had left scars. He had almost sold it a couple of times. But each time, he just couldn't. I'd like to think it was because of his love for Aunt Mary. In the end he managed to hang onto the estate but couldn't live in it anymore.

In the final days of the house, when we were packing, I had found a collection of letters that Aunt Mary and Uncle Matthew had saved. The majority of them dated back before the start of the Second World War. In the years after, when we would take our yearly trips back to Downton, I would always look for more letters and I found them.

When my niece and nephew asked me about Downton, and the last lords of the house and their stories, this was the only satisfactory answer I could give. These are the letters of Matthew Crawley, 7th Earl of Grantham, to Mary Crawley, Countess and back again. It is a tale of tragedy, it is a tale of love; it is a tale of majesty.

S.B.  
New York, New York  
23rd October, 1982


	2. Part 1: Letters from the Front

**Part 1: Letters from the Front**

_(1914-1915)_

* * *

**Introduction**

Hidden in the back covers books and loosely stashed underneath a mountain of papers in desk drawers, were where I found these set of letters. These date from the early days of the war and Matthew and Mary began their correspondence. Matthew had enlisted with the 9th Battalion, Duke of Wellington's Regiment while Mary had continued on with her life at Downton.

**October 8th, 1914**

_My dearest cousin,_

_Forgive me for my long months of silence. I know this letter may come as a surprise to you given the manner in which we parted. For that, I am sorry. By the time this reaches you I will be in the trenches of France. I have enlisted in the Duke of Wellington's Regiment and have just completed training. In a few days I will be off. As the hours pass and the day draws nigh, I must confess, you are all that I think about. Had I been cruel to you? Had I been wrong? It is a strange feeling to be able to foresee your death but as all of this is becoming apparent to me, I should only feel right that if I never see you again, I want you to know that I am sorry for what I put you through._

_Sincerely,_

_Matthew_

**October 20th, 1914**

_My dearest cousin,_

_I cannot tell you how much it lifts my spirits to hear from you after these long months. Imagine my surprise when I heard from papa that you had joined the army. I do hope you are keeping safe. I can't help but worry about you. Cousin Isobel is keeping up a brave face but I can tell that she is worried. She writes you a lot; are you getting them? Are you writing back?_

_I can only imagine your feelings. But I want you to know, and hope that this letter reaches you in time, that you need not apologize to me. I acted like a spoiled petulant little girl. Perhaps, I still am. Perhaps, I have yet to grow up. Pray that when you come home I will be a different girl. A better girl._

_Best wishes,_

_Mary_

**November 14th, 1914**

_My dearest cousin,_

_I apologize for the languor in replying to you. By the time this reaches you it will have been nearly two months since you've heard from me. I cannot tell you what is happening here but I can tell you of my mood. I don't pretend to be a great historian but I know my stories of war. And they are not this. Perhaps I have been naïve but this war has shaken the strength of all the men here. I can see them fading already._

_We have already been deferred leave twice. I hope the war isn't finding its way into your lives. How is Downton? How is Cousin Robert? How is your mother? I would very much like to visit again. I do miss Yorkshire. I miss Downton. I miss you._

_Kind regards,_

_Matthew _

Not long after the First Battle of Flanders, Matthew went on leave and visited London, Manchester, and Yorkshire. He nearly outran his letter, arriving two days after the letter.


	3. Part 1: The Christmas Truce

**The Christmas Truce**

_Accounts of Matthew Crawley_

**December 24th, 1914**

They stood at the edge of night; where the stars and the last rays of the sun meet in celestial battle as their own had ceased for the night and for the day to come. For the first time he could see their faces. Embattled as they were; they were still not what he had expected. They wore the expressions of tired men and beleaguered soldiers. As he was, as his men were.

He could hear for the first time in days. He had forgotten how still the ground could be. He had to relearn how to trust gravity and will himself to climb over the trenches. Against every instinct he had cultivated, he, now with a multitude of others, stood in the middle of no man's land.

The voices of co-mingling German and English filled the void of silence left behind by the ending of the bombardments. His breath hung in the still air as if ethereal statues of unspoken words.

"Ein gesegnetes Weihnachtsfest." A thick voice approached.

The black vestments of his persons emerged from the darkness. He had only seen their uniforms in the distance. Black dots that marked the nebulous horizon that never seemed to get closer. He wore an eye-patch on his left eye. His barracks cap hung lopsided on his head as his weary movements approached Matthew.

"Happy Christmas to you too." Matthew stumbled nervously.

"We are friends this day." The German officer said in his thick Saxon English. "We are Christians."

"Indeed." Matthew approached as they shook hands.

"You are an officer?" The German asked.

"Yes, Lieutenant Matthew Crawley." Matthew answered.

"Crawley. Crawley." The German mused on his name. "Are you related to someone important? A member of parliament or a lord?"

"Yes, yes I am." Matthew answered as he took a flask from underneath his coat pocket. "I am a cousin of Lord Grantham. I'm surprised you know."

"Ahh yes." The German replied. "We get news from the Weltreich."

"I didn't realize we were so well connected." Matthew replied as he took a tin mug from his pocket and handed it to the German officer.

"Oh yes, I know many people in London. They keep me informed." The German said as Matthew poured him some gin.

"I'm sorry; I didn't get your name." Matthew said embarrassed.

"Hauptmann Arthur Kassner." The German smiled as he sipped the gin. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Please, call me Matthew. Let us, for one night, forget that we are cogs in our respective imperial war machines and pretend that we are men." Matthew said as held up his flask and took a swig.

"Amen." Kassner replied.

They stood in silence for a moment and watched the night and the endless fields of barbed wire and trenches and thought to themselves _what folly had they been accomplice to? _It was too cold that night to smell the rotting flesh and burnt skin that so often filled their nostrils. Instead it was the bleak of winter, the harsh icy stillness of the air that hardened their skin and numbed their senses.

"Were you a soldier before the war?" Kassner asked breaking the silence.

"No." Matthew answered as the vision of Mary rushed to the forefront of his memories. "A lawyer."

"A lawyer." Kassner remarked in amusement. "What could have possibly brought you to these wretched lands?"

"To be honest…" Matthew's voice trailed. "I may have been running away."

"Running away to a battlefield." Kassner said. "Well you aren't the first."

He gripped the handle of the tin cup with the leather of his gloves before putting his lips on the cold of the tin. Matthew mustered a smile after suppressing his memories of Mary and took another swig.

"Battle makes us braver." Kassner remarked.

"Do you think so?" Matthew asked.

"I do." Kassner answered as he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket. He dangled it from his lips with the slightest of grip and lit it with his golden lighter.

He handed the pack and the lighter to Matthew.

"Here, we feel weak. We feel frightened. But this cold, this winter, is a refining fire." Kassner said as Matthew lit himself a smoke. "Here, we are tempered, we are strengthened."

"If we don't die." Matthew remarked.

"If we don't die." Kassner confirmed with a smile. "So, what of your demons? Has this war put your affairs into perspective?"

Matthew paused for a moment and let the words sink in. Had his time in mud and blood sharpened his resolve? Was he a different man than he was before the war? Could he be anything else afterwards? Or had he merely thrown his life away on the lonely battlefields defending king and country?

"I don't know…" Matthew finally replied.

"Geliebte, I see." Kassner knowingly smiled.

Matthew closed his eyes and smiled himself.

"Have you seen her since the beginning of the war?" Kassner asked.

"No. I haven't had the courage." Matthew answered.

Kassner nodded and handed the tin mug back to Matthew. "Give it time. The next time a shell lands so close to you that you think you've gone deaf. Then, you will be ready."

After 10 p.m. both sides returned to their respective trenches. Matthew returned to his dug-out and prepared himself some tea. The gin had hit him harder than he realized. Standing in the freezing cold he had not realized it but he was very much drunk. He turned on his desk lamp and sitting in front of him was a letter from Mary that he had yet to open; partly because he was too afraid to open and partly because he wanted to save it for Christmas day.

He sat down at his desk and sipped the tea. He took the bayonet that he had strapped to his boot and used it to open the envelope. He carefully unfolded the letter and tried to capture the scent of her that always remained from her perfumed hands.

_Dearest cousin,_

_I hope this letter reaches you in time for Christmas. I want to wish you the very best. We are all praying for your safety and your health. I know that your leave did not offer you much time to spend in Yorkshire and I am sorry that I missed you in London. But know that you are at the very center of my thoughts, this day and every day._

_Papa is talking an awful lot about joining the army again. Mama says he's too old and I agree. But he seems to need a sense of purpose. I think it pains him to feel useless and old. He spends much of his time in the library reading through the history of the Plantagenets. He may want to be a Crusader lord, leading his housecarls his fyrds into the maelstrom of battle, but things are different now._

_Edith is learning to drive believe it or not. She's only been out twice and Branson is not convinced. Sybil has been in a mood recently and hasn't been speaking very much. I don't know what I can do for her._

_These months have been long and cold and I find myself lost in this limbo. I will confess that I have cried many nights. Please be safe. I am finding myself feeling absolutely alone in the cold winter hours, knowing that, I still love you and always will._

_Truly yours,_

_Mary_


	4. Part 1: December to February

**December 30th, 1914**

_My dearest cousin,_

_I hope that your Christmas was every bit as enjoyable as we had heard about. It warms my heart to hear the stories of the truce at the front. I think deep down we are all very much the same and I can't help but wonder what truly is so different between the men in Ripon and the ones in Frankfurt that causes them to fight wars. Anyways, I don't want to bore you with my naïve musings. You know much more about the cause to fight than I will ever know. _

_I haven't heard back from you in quite a long time. Did you get my Christmas letter? I know that you must be busy in the trenches. Replying to a letter must seem so trivial in comparison to your duties. Even so, I should like to hear from you again. If only to know that you are still alive._

_If you are going to be in London anytime soon I shall be at Grantham House for the duration of the season. Although mother says that things will be different this year since most of the young eligible men are where you are._

_Best wishes,_

_Mary_

**January 21st, 1915**

_My dearest cousin,_

_I hope these letters are finding their way to you. I haven't received a single word from you since last November. I couldn't imagine what horrors you may be enduring. We pray for your safety every day. Papa has been writing to the War Office about your whereabouts. He hasn't gotten a single proper response. I suppose that's the nature of war. I don't pretend to know much about it. But we know that you are safe and accounted for and that's all that matters._

_I am currently writing to you from Grantham House. Mama was more than right. The season has been far less than what I expected. There is roughly one eligible man for four girls. I am in no mood to compete for the affection for a stranger; especially given the current circumstances. Cousin Isobel has told me that you have been spending much of your leave in London so I am still hoping that you will come visit. Perhaps, I can give you a proper send off this time._

_Truly yours,_

_Mary_

**The Card**

This three lined message was sent to the front but never reached Lieutenant Crawley. It had been returned to Downton unopened a month later.

**February 14th, 1915**

_Tell me that I am difficult to love; I will understand._

_Tell me that you don't wish to see me again; I will understand._

_But please tell me something…_

_Mary_


	5. Part 1: The Carabiniers (Part 1)

**The Carabiniers (Part 1)**

_Accounts of Matthew Crawley_

**April 5th, 1915**

Occasionally, a sharp gust would carry the icy air from the sky into his dug out. Matthew had his coat draped of his shoulders to minimize his discomfort. The hours were long, especially in the mornings; knowing that you have a full day to potentially die. Men get killed in the night, night shelling, bored snipers, the sheer coldness of it all. But at night, you're usually asleep and dead before it you know it. The days were when you had to stare death in the face as he comes to take you.

Shivering and breathing frantically, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes. His number fingers managed to take one and bring it to his cracked lips. Shards of frozen skin created a natural grip for the cigarette to hang.

He leaned into his candle and cupped it with his hands. The heat radiated and for a brief moment life returned to his fingers. The end of the cigarette caught the flame. The first puff hit his lungs like a wall. He opened his nostrils as the smoke shot out.

He didn't even smoke before the war. It was just a habit he picked up in the trenches. What else could he do? He could read the letters over and over again. He could try to sleep. And he could smoke. It calmed his nerves.

"Mail, Lieutenant." A Somerset accent blasted in from the outside accompanied by the slap of paper on the ground.

"Hey, these from this year?" Matthew leaned over to the entrance and shouted back.

"Fuck you Lieutenant." The same voice responded a second later.

Matthew stood up and walked over to the spot where the courier and dropped it. He picked up the envelope and instinctively knew it was from Mary. She had custom stationery and… that scent. He had received a stack of letters from Mary and Isobel just a day prior dating back several months. It wasn't just him, his whole battalion also failed to receive mail. It had been demoralizing to say the least.

He pulled the bayonet out of his boot and sliced it open. Pulling out the sheet as delicately as he could, he tossed the envelope onto his bed.

_My dearest cousin,_

_The season is really starting to pick up as the winter dies. Everyone is really excited. This will be Sybil's second season. Even papa's mood is improving. I think everyone is just looking for a break from the war. Not that you need to hear that from me. Have you been in London since New Year's? I've been looking for you in the streets daily._

_I hope it is not expedient that I am writing to you. I should hate to think that my writing to you is causing dysfunction in your everyday routine. But you haven't written back since last year. Have I done something to upset you? Had it been something I said? Please Matthew, I beg of you, write back, at least one more time, if only to say good-bye and put my mind to rest._

_Lovingly,_

_Mary_

[When I discovered this letter during the move, I took it to Uncle Matthew to see if he remembered it. He recalled receiving it but not ever reading it in its entirety. He only managed to read the first two sentences before being called away.]

"Lieutenant." Matthew's soldier-servant said as he entered from the outside. "Brigadier wants to see you."

"What for?" Matthew asked.

"You'd have to ask him, sir." He replied. "What's that?"

Matthew looked down at the letter in his hands.

"I dunno, some nonsense about the upcoming season in London." Matthew answered as he tossed the letter onto his night stand.

* * *

Matthew sat nervously across from his brigade commander. He hadn't been this far back from the lines in a long time. He was so far away from the war. The absence of machine gun fire and shaken ground put him slightly on edge. The silence was suffocating. His gazed fixed upon the ceremonial sabre mounted above the brigadier.

"You know why you're here, Crawley?" Brigadier Hadwin asked not looking up from his report.

_Crawley? _"No sir." Matthew answered.

"Really now…" Hadwin sank slightly into his chair as he looked up.

"How many other officers do you know getting into fist fights with their men for sport?" Hadwin's tone sharpened. "How many officers do you know who play chicken with enemy snipers?"

"With all due respect, it was just a shortcut." Matthew replied.

"Don't get smart with me, lieutenant." Hadwin said unamused.

"We were just having some fun." Matthew defended. "I wasn't the only one."

"The only one who is a Peer!" Hadwin exclaimed as his hand came down on his desk. "You think it is acceptable to be rolling around in the mud and flagrantly misbehaving?"

Matthew sat silent for a moment.

"What happened to you, lieutenant?" Hadwin's voice came down. "Your performance was excellent in the first few months."

"I'm not sure what to tell you sir." Matthew said.

"Perhaps, a different posting for a while." Hadwin said.

"What?" Matthew asked confused.

"Lord Grantham inquired about your—" Hadwin explained.

"Of course." Matthew interrupted.

"It says here that you can ride. Is that true?" Hadwin on the page in front of him.

"Yes?" Matthew half-asked, half-answered.

"Yes?" Hadwin mimicked.

"Yes." Matthew answered properly.

"The Carabiniers are short a few good riders. I'm transferring you over to them for a while." Hadwin explained.

"But what about The Dukes? I can't just leave." Matthew protested.

"It's just temporary." Hadwin explained. "Look, the real reason is that the Season is getting into full swing and we need a few notables from the front to ride in the parades to boost morale."

"So this is about my estate." Matthew said disappointingly.

"And what's wrong with that? Go back to London for a few weeks, ride a horse, show off to some girls. You have a sweetheart, lieutenant?" Hadwin asked.

"No sir." Matthew answered after a few moments deliberation.

"There's your problem." Hadwin smiled for the first time since Matthew arrived in his office. "Nothing to come back to; you're less inclined to come back."

Matthew lowered his head slightly and conceded that his commander may indeed have been right. He hadn't seen Mary since the beginning of the war and her letters had been less frequent as the war drew longer. He understood that they left things on uncertain terms and the distance and their respective situations; her, the darling of Downton; him, knee deep in death. Her recent letters, as much as he read or could bear to read, focused on the events of a life he started to feel was drifting further and further away.


	6. Part 1: The Carabiniers (Part 2)

_Excerpt from the personal diary of Mary Crawley._

**April 14th, 1915**

_I swear I could see his face. Leaner than he was, duller were his eyes, but it was him! Sybil and Edith don't believe me. To be perfectly honest I don't know if I believe myself. But it had to be. I couldn't mistake Matthew._

**The Carabiniers (Part 2)**

_Accounts of Matthew Crawley_

Matthew tumbled onto the ground and narrowly managed to regain his footing and stand up. He was a little dizzy after that one and could barely keep his eyes focused. He held the sword in front of him as he knew to do; as much as he knew. His breathing was deep and heavy, and although he knew that it was giving himself away, he really needed the air.

"C'mon Crawley, is that all ya got?" That piercing Yorkshire accent teased his pride.

Matthew drew several more deep breaths as he stood his ground.

"What's the matter, lieutenant?" That voice came again. "Don't know how to handle a sabre? What kind of cavalrymen doesn't know how to use a sabre?"

"I'm… I'm more of a rider than a swordsman." Matthew stuttered out.

"Ooohhh." His registered lowered. "So you're one of those gentry-folk who grew up with a pony under their nappies."

Matthew didn't want to reply. He had taken great pains to learn how to ride but mentioning that he was a lawyer before the war wasn't going to help his case either. Before he could complete his thought his opponent lunged forward. Matthew, from being pummelled for the hour at least learned how to defend a straight cut. He angled the guard across the oncoming blade and reposted towards his enemies head. At once, Matthew pulled back his sword realising for the first time today he might get a clean hit, as his opponent jerked his head slightly off line.

They both stopped.

The crowd that had gathered around them stopped as well. For a brief moment the stables were completely silent. A drop of blood formed from where Matthew nicked his skin. He touched his face and the drop collapsed onto his fingers.

"At least, he's a quick learner." He said as he sheathed his sword.

Matthew dropped his guard and took a deep breath of relief. The crowd began to disperse.

"Not bad for your first time." A shorter man said standing next to Matthew.

He handed Matthew his cap. "Thank you." Matthew said still trying to regain his breath.

"He's just frustrated with the new command." He explained.

"I'm Matthew Crawley, I mean, Lieutenant Crawley." Matthew managed to finally said holding out his hand.

"Corporal Edmond Reed." He replied shaking his hand.

"I'm assuming he's one of the veterans." Matthew said as they vacated the atrium and into the stables.

"He's been here long enough." Reed answered. "Captain Kirby from a _warrior clan_."

Matthew and Edmond both mounted their steeds and followed the train of endless horsemen out of the barracks and into the main road.

* * *

_Accounts of Mary, Edith, and Sybil Crawley_

She had been the only one of them who had even bothered to touch any of the food. Edith and Sybil had been sitting at the window looking out onto the streets. The crowds were enormous and even with the windows fully closed they could hear, quite loudly, the machinations of the city below. Anna returned to their room with three pairs of opera glasses and distributed them out.

"Here you go, milady." Anna said as she handed one to Mary.

"Oh I don't need it." Mary said as she signalled for it to be put down beside her.

Anna did so.

"Come, sit." Mary said to Anna as she held out her hand.

"Oh, I don't think I should, milady." Anna replied kindly.

"Please, Anna." Mary protested. "I'm bored, look at my sisters."

Mary pointed at both Edith and Sybil transfixed on their parade outside.

"If you don't come now, you'll miss it." Edith said without averting her gaze from her opera glasses.

"I'll live." Mary replied giving a knowing look to Anna.

For the little while as the parade officially began Mary and Anna hid away in the back of the room talking while Edith and Sybil enjoyed the spectacle. Shortly after the start of the war, Mary found in a state of melancholy. Her life seemed to be drifting away without purpose or direction. All of this, she confided in Anna. Mary would've never told Edith and Sybil was too young and determined to understand.

"Is he nice?" Anna asked quietly.

"Matthew?" Mary asked back.

"No, this Sir Ambrose character." Anna clarified.

"I don't know." Mary answered. "We only ever exchanged a glance. I suppose I'll find out tomorrow night."

"Well, are you excited?" Anna asked.

Mary could just give her an unsure smile.

"Mary! Come now, or you'll miss them for good." Edith waved Mary over.

Mary grabbed her opera glasses and dragged herself out of the chair and towards the window.

"What are we watching?" Mary asked.

"The men on horses, of course." Edith answered in a slightly higher register.

"What on earth for?" Mary asked again as she put her opera glasses up to her eyes and looked out the window.

"For tomorrow tonight." Edith answered as she scanned the regiment that marched right near them. "Many of the officers will be there."

"So we'll see them tomorrow." Mary said in her still disinterested tone.

"But you have to know what you're up against." Edith replied.

"It's called _intelligence_, its useful in wars." Sybil added.

"I already know what I'm up against, Sir Ambrose—" Mary paused.

A silence fell upon the room. Edith and Sybil barely noticed Mary's sudden dangling sentence. However, Anna did. She looked over at Mary's distressed face. Mary returned the opera glasses to her eyes again and scanned the crowd once more. He was there. He must've been. She thought as she tried to find him again among the mass of horse and men. His piercing blue eyes, his gentle smile, his brilliant glow; it had to have been him.

She had lost him. No, she had almost lost him. He was there, on the street, on a horse, for whatever reason. And she must find him, if only to ask him what he was doing on a horse.

"Anna, my coat. Let's go!" Mary commanded.

"What's going on?" Sybil asked looking down from her opera glasses.

"Yes, what are you up to?" Edith asked as Anna scurried away.

Mary took a few moments to try to compose some words, but none were adequate. "I… will explain later."

Mary rushed downstairs where Anna had been waiting with her coat. She quickly slid into it.

"Your ladyship, what's the matter?" Anna asked as she straightened out the creases in her coat.

"I think I just saw Matthew." Mary said as she hurried outside into the street.

"Mr. Crawley?" Anna whispered to herself confused.

Mary waded her way into the crowd of black jackets and umbrellas. She stared up at the horsemen that paraded row after row. She tried to remember where in the crowd he was. She scanned every face with a renewed determination. She had seen him. _She couldn't mistake Matthew._


	7. Part 1: The Carabiniers (Part 3)

**The Carabiniers (Part 3)**

_Accounts of Matthew Crawley_

Matthew peaked over his shoulder once again.

"He's still looking." Matthew said gently to Reed, hoping the dwindling, yet still formidable, sounds of the streets would mask their conversation.

"Wonder what he wants with you." Reed said back.

"I think I know." Matthew said.

Matthew waited until the crowd had thinned out a bit more and night was darker. Soon, their parade had ended and they had only to head back to the barracks. Matthew then slipped behind the rabble of now disorganized horses, and remerged behind Captain Kirby.

"Where are you from exactly? Captain?" Matthew asked with a rather loud and commanding voice.

Stunned and a little confused, Captain Kirby looked back and forth. He had completely missed the fact that he had been flanked. He thought for a couple of seconds about the peculiar question and realized his accent had given him away.

"Kirkbymoorside, _Lord Grantham_." Captain Kirby spat out with indignation.

"So you know who I am." Matthew said.

"I do." Captain Kirby confirmed.

"What do you know about me?" Matthew asked.

"That you are to inherit Lord Grantham's estate." Captain Kirby answered.

"Is that all?" Matthew answered in as friendly a tone has he could.

"Who do you think I am, lieutenant? What? Are you surprised that I'm not keen on ya because you're the lord's heir?" Captain Kirby chuckled.

Matthew said nothing. He merely maintained his gaze at Captain Kirby as they rode into the barracks' stables. It wasn't the first time his inheritance had been challenged. Cousin Violet had been quite adamant about her disapproval of him in the early months. But this was the first time someone from the county had openly confronted him.

Matthew and Edmond lit up a quick smoke as the men filtered out of the stables.

"So you're an earl?" Reed commented.

"Future earl." Matthew corrected. "If I make it through the war alive."

"So what's Captain Kirby's problem with you?" Edmond asked.

"Who knows." Matthew sighed. "Probably because until three years ago, I was just a solicitor from Manchester."

"He knows you?" Edmond asked.

"He knows… Yorkshire, I'd imagine." Matthew answered tactfully as he tossed the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out.

"So I gather you're here to attend the balls and glad-hand the generals." Edmond said. "Makes sense really."

"Hey, don't make it sound cheap. I'm a good rider." Matthew protested.

"But a poor swordsman if ever I saw one." Edmond chuckled.

"Well I've got time. Maybe I'll just stick to the centre of the crowd…" Matthew's words trailed.

"Ahh, don't worry about it. There's no parry-repost when you're on a horse anyways. Just time your cuts right and your mount will do the rest." Edmond explained. "So what are you up to tonight? Banqueting with General Gough?"

"No, I have a dinner to attend to. A _middle class_ dinner, with a lawyer friend, Reginald Swire, from before the war." Matthew said stressing.

"You ever miss it?" Edmond asked as he tossed his cigarette.

"Well, I suppose." Matthew admitted. "With all the servants and the leisurely days… and all the pretty country girls..."

_Actually there's one in particular. _He thought.

"Actually, I was talking about lawyering." Edmond chuckled slightly. "But being an earl is nice too, I suppose."

* * *

_Accounts of Mary Crawley_

**April 16th, 1915**

As usual, Sybil and Edith patiently waited in the room while Mary took her time getting dressed. The day had been long and dower. After Mary's spontaneous trek through the streets of London for several hours the day before, she had been remarkably quiet. She didn't want to talk about it and Sybil and Edith made no real attempt to. Anna stayed with her that night as Mary tried to contain her tears. She felt stupid; it was nothing to cry over. Her mind was quick to realize that she simply may have been mistaken. But heart held onto another story, even if it wasn't true.

In her melancholic imagination, Matthew had seen her and had walked away from her all over again. In her mind, she was being punished for letting him go.

It took her a whole night to cry it out, as silently, gracefully, and privately as she could. She purged, as she had learned to do quite proficiently in the last several months. It was war and no one wanted to see a highborn lady cry her eyes out over the trivialities of her life. But she _felt_, and she needed to feel.

Anna knew that.

And perhaps, she was the only one who knew that. Mary's cold exterior, that she wore a shield against the world, was finally beginning to take a toll on her. Before, she had Matthew, and before she had papa, and she had Sybil, and mama. Now, she had no one; no one but Anna to bear the weight of her stoic misery.

Mary and her sisters arrived in true fashion. Dressed up in the finest fashions the war could produce with the usual grace and dignity befitting of their station, each one of them attracted the attention of at least one man there. Robert watched closely over his daughters while Cora had gone off to talk to some of her friends.

"Don't worry, papa." Mary said as she walked over to join him. "I won't let them get into too much trouble."

"It's not your sisters I'm worried about." Robert retorted.

"You could not possibly mean me." Mary jested.

Robert smirked and took a sip of his drink.

"Well, don't worry papa." Mary replied reassuringly. "I will be the perfect lady tonight."

"Good." Robert smiled.

Mary scanned the crowd. Edith had been up to her old tricks, feigning interest with her target of choice. Sybil had always had her fair share of attention; lovely and sweet as she was. Mary smiled absently as she watched her sisters enjoy the life that she had once adored; now it all seemed so distant and inconsequential. The night drifted on and while Robert had made occasional encouragements for her eldest daughter to go mingle, she politely declined and held her station.

An hour later, a flood of officers came into the room adorned in their red dress uniforms, to a crowd of blaring applause.

"Colonel Oliver Easton and the officers of the Sixth Dragoon Guards." The butler managed to announce through the thick of the clapping.

Robert turned and tilted his head slightly towards the crowd of officers.

"Oh, all right. If you insist." Mary half-hearted protested as she grabbed her drink from the table and dove in.

She approached slowly as the crowd had already begun to disperse to various corners of the room. Their uniforms had been distracting. She scanned their faces trying to pick out one that was remotely interesting. And _he_ was again.

It was as if she had gone blind for a moment and every memory came rushing back. Her uncontrollable emotions pierced at her heart. Every breath escaped from her lungs.

_Matthew._

She wondered if she had been dreaming. She wondered if she was going mad. Every physical sense that she had told her that the tall, blue eyed, blonde, gentlemen with the warm smile, was him. Every instinct she had nurtured told her _not again. Don't fall for this again._

But it was him. He stared back at her, their eyes transfixed. Her motions frozen in time, as all else had seemed to do as well. Once again she tried to rationalize what she was seeing but she couldn't. He was there and it was him. He was so close she could feel his breath upon her cheek. That warmth that she had known those years ago, that tender fragile caress, it was unmistakable.

After she regained her senses she received a tap on her shoulder. She turned around quickly to find a large imposing gentleman in front of her.

"Lady Mary." He greeted her warmly.

"Sir Ambrose, how nice to see you." She said instinctively, before she even fully realized who he was.

She turned her head back once more to look but found nothing but a sea of red uniforms. He was gone. Again.

* * *

The moonlight draped over his shoulders like a cloak. The city was dark and the noise of the day had long since dissipated into the mysteries of the night. She stood in front of the great house watching him. The death throes of winter caught her neck and back with the echoes of its last words. She shivered, but she wasn't sure if it was because of the cold.

He patted his horse and stroked his back as he adjusted the saddle. For a moment she wanted to do nothing but watch him. For a moment, they were in Downton's stables. For a moment, he was preparing for a hunt and she was seeing him off. For a moment, she was the countess and he was the earl. For a moment, she had an eternity that doesn't exist.

But only for a moment.

"I knew it was you." Mary finally managed to say.

He looked up from his horse and paused. "Mary…" His breath managed to say.


	8. Part 1: The Carabiniers (Part 4)

**The Carabiniers (Part 4)**

_Accounts of Matthew Crawley_

**April 22nd, 1915**

The sun caught the crack of his tent and pushed through his eyelids. Immediately the smell of mud and burnt ground woke him up. The night was painful and the sleep was short. They had been called back two days early for something urgent. Matthew didn't know what it was exactly and from what he could gather from Reed, neither did the other men. After sleep in a hotel for the last week, the dirt of battle-worn France just was at best, uncomfortable.

Matthew threw off his blanket and embraced the cold April morning. He wasn't the first one up. But he wasn't the last either. Half of the convoy had already packed up. Matthew collapsed his poorly constructed tent, bundled it together, and loaded it onto his horse.

"Come on, men." One of the officers yelled into the crowd. "Only 20 miles to the camp."

"Then why didn't we just sleep there last night?" Matthew said to himself.

"What's the matter?" Reed teased as he rode by on his horse. "Missing London already?"

"Oh, I don't know how I could stand it." That Yorkshire voice pierced through the early morning air. "Having slept in the finest beds man could buy for the last four years."

He felt as though he should speak out. He had been in a trench for the last half year, sleeping in far worse conditions than any of the cavalrymen had to do in any extended period of time. He had seen more action than many of the men here. But he decided against it.

"Oh and the ladies. You must miss them so very much." Captain Kirby continued.

_That one hurt._

"Kirby." Matthew said as he mounted his horse. "I've heard that yours is an ancient clan."

"That's right." Captain Kirby answered with a mix of hostility and confusion as he himself mounted his.

"And that your ancestor was there at the Battle of Sedgemoor fighting alongside the rebels." Matthew said evoking more and more of his legal professionalism.

Captain Kirby paused and meditated on his words for a moment. He knew how he should answer but Matthew's disposition perplexed him. "My grandfathers were Protestants. I am a Protestant and I'm proud of it."

"Loyal." Matthew commented.

"You're damn right." Captain Kirby continued. "My clan has stuck by the House of Grantham longer than know. Yeah, we were there at Sedgemoor. We were there at Tilbury. The Kirbys have been serving Viscount Downton since Agincourt! You know what that's like, Crawley? You know what it's like to build a legacy? No, because you stole yours."

Matthew closed his eyes for a moment a smiled.

"Loyal…" Matthew repeated.

"You'll not trick me, Crawley." Captain Kirby said. "You may be heir to Downton, but you're no lord, I know that."

Matthew then turned his horse and marched back at Captain Kirby.

"Now listen here. I have no interest in what you think or say about me. You understand me?" Matthew paused just long enough to let him think he was going to get a word in. "But when you speak of ladies to me, know that you are speaking about Lady Mary Crawley. Am I to assume that you're given remarks about the women in my life that your tone and inflection are indicative of your opinion of Lady Mary?"

Stunned by his judiciary tone, Captain Kirby only managed to fumble out "No, sir. Of course not."

"Good, because she sends her regards." Matthew said returning to his normal tone of voice before turning around and riding off.

* * *

**April 16th, 1915**

The name lingered on his lips. For that moment in time, he had no other thoughts but her. Had she this effect on him before? And this always been their way? Was she his sickness? He felt like he was dreaming. He felt as though this couldn't be real. As if Downton, Robert, Cora, Violet, Edith, Sybil, and Mary were nothing but figments of his imagination.

But she was there, undeniably there, wearing that trademark sadness that he had seen all too often. She looked cold. She looked angry. She looked relieved. She looked… scared.

Lieutenant Crawley took off his barracks cap and tucked it under his right armpit. He turned to face her fully.

"I didn't know that you were going to be in London." She said anxiously as she approached him slowly.

"I was recently transferred to the Sixth Dragoon Guards." Matthew answered as calmly as his current state allowed him.

"I had forgotten that you could ride." Mary said as she patted the horse.

"How have you been?" Matthew asked.

"Alright. Good, I think." Mary tried to say with the appropriate intonation. "Given the war."

"The war," Matthew acknowledged, "ah yes, the war."

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to." Mary tried to explain.

"No, no. It's quite fine." Matthew said with a sigh of defeat. "What else do people talk of these days?"

His head hung heavy and his eyes were tried. Mary stood so close to him she could see every scar he carried. Though his face was relatively unmarked she could feel the weight that he bore in his mind. All she wanted was to relieve him of his troubles.

"Matthew, are you alright?" Mary asked.

Matthew carefully crafted the words in his mind. He didn't want to bring his war troubles back with him from the front but it had been so long since he had seen Mary and so long since he had heard from her, he couldn't quite keep up his usual cheerful disposition.

"I'm losing myself, Mary. I'm losing myself to this war and I don't know if I can find my way back." Matthew finally found his words. "The nights only get longer and the days bloodier. I have seen men die, Mary. I saw them. I carried them."

Matthew stopped again. Every muted confession carried so much weight and so many emotions that it took him all his strength to say it, even to Mary, whom he had always been so open.

"But here, in London, it's as if nothing was even happening. Life goes on." He said with a trembling voice. "I see you Mary and I see three years ago. And that might as well be an eternity. It seems so long ago, like hanging onto a memory of a past that never truly was."

"Matthew, I haven't forgotten you." Mary said. She paused for a moment to consider her words. She hadn't seen or heard from in so long. She had no idea how much the war had shaken him. "I have faith in you."

"I am sorry, you know. I am sorry for turning you down." Matthew apologized in the same trembling voice.

"We don't have to talk about that." Mary tried to diffuse their conversation.

"No, Mary. I am sorry." Matthew persisted. "In a different world, had I been a better man…"

"Don't say that." Mary protested.

"Had I been a better…" Matthew continued.

"No don't. No. You can't tell me such things now. Not now." Mary said in her defensive English-grandees tone. "I could stand it if you told me before you ran off to war without even seeing me. I could stand it if you had written back at all. But you haven't—"

He kissed her. Partly to shut her up, partly to remind himself what she felt like; to remind himself of her softness, to remind himself of her warmth. Her lips did not refuse him. How could she? She had never stopped wanting him. Not since the day that he left Downton. And when she heard that he had joined the war, she wondered, so bitterly at times, if she would ever taste his lips again.

His lips hung on to hers, for as long as possible. He didn't want to stop, he could see it even more clearly now, that story about Mary and him and Downton, he could almost touch it now. And he was content with that. He was content to breathe one last true breath. He exhaled and resigned to his fate.

"Had I been better, that would've caused me no guilt." He said calmly to her, as he had always done to assure her.

Still stunned by his stolen kiss, Mary simply stared at him trying to regain her breath.

"You could've been a countess… and I could've been your earl." Matthew said with a forlorn smile.

Mary looked up into his deep blue eyes. How she remembered those eyes. She had lost herself in them so many times before. She wanted to lose herself now. She placed his hands around her waist and pulled him in by his lapel. He leaned in again. They were so close. Their breaths mingled as their kiss pushed past and met. He was gentle with her, as he had always been. His hands, ever so carefully held her against him. He was stronger than he was before. The war shaped him. It made him hard. She held onto his statuesque arms and neck as they kissed. And suddenly, as quickly and passionately as they had begun, he broke their embrace.

"No. This isn't right." He said when he regained his breath.

"What? Why not?" Mary asked in a distressed voice.

"I can't… take you. Not like this. I couldn't take that away from your husband. It would be selfish. It would be greedy." Matthew explained.

"But Matthew." Mary pleaded. She so desperately wanted to tell him about Mr. Pamuk.

"You deserve to be a princess. You _are_ a princess. And you will be queen." Matthew continued. "But I am no king. I'm just a lawyer."

Tears came flowing out of Mary as those words hit her. In many ways they echoed what he meant the last time they were together at the garden party all those years ago. But this time, instead of frustration and anger, they were merely filled with sorrow.

"Could you not… be a king for me?" Mary cried.

Matthew closed his eyes and allowed himself once more to dream of a life that never can be. It was all there as he had seen it before, as he had envisioned it in his mind so many times before. She, standing at the front doors of Downton, the sound of children's laughter rang from the distance, she smiles at him, she assures him, he could see it all, but just as quickly as it came to him to always disappeared. He knew it was right, he knew it was right to give her back her life, her future, and her happiness for he had lost his on the battlefields. He mounted his steed with the confidence of an experienced horseman. He looked at her once more and his miserable smiled.

"Goodbye Mary." He said withholding as much emotion as he could.

* * *

Matthew watched as the sun slowly descended from the sky. The days were getting longer but even in April, 5:00 p.m. was still considered dark. He watched the embattled horizon sitting on his horse with the rest of the Carabiniers. They were mostly quiet and anxious as he was. Even some of the veterans looked on edge.

"So what are we doing exactly?" A Scottish accent came from the distance.

"Assisting the infantry." Another man answered.

"Oh, well, that clears everything up beautifully doesn't it?" The Scot replied sarcastically.

Matthew watched the silence of the front. It was eerie. He wasn't normally this far back but he could still see the enemy horizons. The lack of bombardments and the howling of the wind gave the day a sense of impending doom. He thought back to his last encounter with Mary as he often did. He tried so desperately hard to recall the feeling of her lips, the scent of her body, and the shade of hair. He felt the unopened letters in his breast pocket.

He took out one of them and stared at the pink envelope. He unsheathed his bayonet from his boot and carved through the top.

"Is that from Lady Mary?" That Yorkshire accent said piercing through the silence of the night.

"Ahh, yes." Matthew answered plainly.

"I am sorry, sir." Captain Kirby apologized. "This morning… I did not meaning to insult her ladyship."

"It's quite alright." Matthew responded understandingly. "You didn't know."

"You're going to read that now?" Captain Kirby asked.

"Yes?" Matthew answered and asked at the same time.

"No, no…" Captain Kirby gently. "You've been in those damn trenches for too long. The trick isn't preparing yourself to die happy. The trick is to give yourself something to live for."

Matthew thought for a moment. He looked at the envelope and the paper peeking out of his brute incision. He pushed it back into the envelope and tucked it back into his pocket.

"We're cavalrymen, lieutenant." Captain Kirby said. "We don't face death, we charge at it."

Half an hour later, Matthew could see from the north of their position a rush of oncoming men down the trench line. They were quite a distance away but even from their location he could hear the French voices shouting and panicking. The Carabiniers held their ground one of them smelled the gas.

"Chlorine." One of the men said. "We must move!"

The band of horses turned and started to head south, down towards the Canadian position. They picked up the pace as they tried to outrun the chlorine gas. Some of the Carabiniers fell sick, several of them had fallen off their horses but they couldn't go back for them, not if they hoped to escape from danger.

When they approached the Canadian line they could hear the war cries of German soldiers. As they approached visual range they could see the mass of blank uniforms pouring over no man's land and the Canadian holding their trenches.

"Form up!" A thundering command came from the front.

Matthew marched himself into a position near the outside of the company of horses and pulled out his rifle and mounted his bayonet. Corporal Reed and Captain Kirby both took positions on the outer flanks and drew their sabres.

"Forward!" Another thundering command came.

They slowly started to march forward. As they came across the trenches, the horses filtered through the narrow jumps and the makeshift bridges, past the barbed wire until they were in the open fields of no man's land. Matthew rode with all the courage and strength that he possessed and found an open position from which he could see where they were headed. Although it was dark, he could still make out the shapes of the German helmets and the glow of their lanterns. He aimed his rifle and near the crowd and fired a shot. He was earlier than the rest of the riflemen and his shot rang loud. All watched as his shot took out one of the lights and an audible cry and thump were heard.

"Bloody hell, Crawley hit one!" Captain Kirby remarked with genuine surprise.

"Charge!" The voice came crashing down upon the ranks of horses.

A roar responded to the command as they turned their direction towards the German mass and rode at double speed. Matthew managed to reload and shot again. Another one was hit although nothing could be heard at this point other than the hooves of horses and the cries of men.

"Where did you learn to shoot like that?" Captain Kirby asked riding alongside him.

"I've had practice." Matthew answered. "Not much with a good with a sword, I'm afraid, but I know how to shoot."

"You are full of surprises, Lord Crawley." Captain Kirby said with a heavy chuckle.

"Incoming fire!" The voice at the front shouted.

Matthew could see in the distance the shelling had begun. The meagre years that separated them from the enemy ranks now became an insurmountable chasm. Yet still, Reed and Kirby charged forward with their swords drawn and the iron will, unblemished. Matthew road forward into the crowd and when they collided, he immediately, though he could not see, he knew that his horse had just kicked and stomped someone into the ground. He held his rifle to his shoulder, pointing the bayonet in front. For a moment, he felt like a knight of old, charging into the fray.

As the dust thickened from the movement of horses, Matthew's view of the landscape became obscure. He no longer knew where the Canadian line was and where the Germans were coming from. He could hear the heavy shelling which did not, to his surprise, lessen as they mixed with the German ranks. He could barely see Reed and Kirby several metres in front of him hacking down Germans with their swords. Matthew rode to join them. They saw another mass of Germans charging with their bayonets pointed at them. They looked around and couldn't find the rest of the Carabiniers.

"We must go!" Matthew yelled and pointing at the charging German infantry.

"Where are the others?" Reed asked.

"No I have no idea." Matthew answered. "But we must go!"

Matthew, Reed, and Kirby looked around and saw the dust clearing and decided to head in that direction. They rode hard and fast until they had cleared the dust. Just as Matthew thought it was safe to look bad a large explosion threw him off his horse.

He came to his sense several minutes afterwards with a ringing in his ears and sense of weightless disorientation about him. He looked around and found his comrades. He found Reed first. He was turned over, face in the fresh mud. He rolled him over to find in unconscious.

"Reed! Corporal Reed!" Matthew yelled trying to wake him up. "Edmond!"

He checked his pulse. There was none.

Matthew stood up in a panic, not thinking about where he was or what he was doing. He looked around and saw another body in the distance. When he came close, he realized it was Captain Kirby.

"Captain! Captain!" Matthew said frantically.

Captain Kirby opened his eyes and spat several times to clear the dirt from his mouth.

"They got me." He managed to say through his collapsed lungs. "It was going to happen one of these days."

"No!" Matthew emphatically said.

"My horse…" Captain Kirby said.

Matthew looked around and saw it in the distance.

"I can see him." Matthew said. "I'll go get him."

"No, don't bother. I am done." Captain Kirby coughed out.

"You mustn't lose hope." Matthew said breathing heavily.

"Hope. I have no more need of hope." Captain Kirby insisted. "Take my horse. Save yourself."

"No. Stop, I'm going to get you back." Matthew fought with him.

"That's very kind of you, _milord_." Captain Kirby said.

Matthew said nothing. He was shocked at his address. Why would he call him that, now of all times? Had he simply given up his will to live? His will to fight on?

"Never thought I'd say that." Captain Kirby coughed out.

Matthew paused and sighed. "I'm not a lord, just a country lawyer."

"You defended the honour of her ladyship. You have shown bravery on the battlefield. Nobility isn't the blood that runs through your veins." Captain Kirby said. "Nobility is the blood you are willing to shed in defense of others. It has been an honour, _Lord Grantham_."

Matthew said nothing but his tears said everything.

"Go back to her." Captain Kirby earnestly advised with his waning breath. "You are more of a lord than you know."

"Save your strength." Matthew said trying to keep away from the topic.

Matthew got up and dragged himself over to the horse. He tried to mount it but he realized it was limp. His horse clearly couldn't carry two people. He brought it back to wear Captain Kirby was. With the last ounce of strength he had, Matthew loaded Captain Kirby onto the horse. He pulled out his compass and sent the horse westward hoping that some friendlies would eventually find him.

He looked around and found no other horses. In the distance he could see another wave of German soldiers approaching from the east. After a moment of silent awe, he regained his senses and found a crater a recent shell had created and hid. He stayed perfectly still as he listened for the German voices. He gauged their distance from him by the volume of their speech. He was trapped all around. It was completely dark now and he had no idea where he was. He considered surrendering himself but decided he wouldn't voluntarily go.

He sat in the wet mud patiently and awaited his fate. The letter from his breast pocket fell out. Crumpled and wrinkled as it was, he had completely forgotten about it during the battle. He pulled it out of the envelope and, by moonlight alone, he read it.

* * *

By midnight, though the Allies had lost the northern section of the Ypres Salient, the Canadians had managed to repel the German offensive. Lieutenant Crawley was rescued the next day.


	9. Part 1: May to June

**May 27th 1915**

_Dear Mary,_

_It has been a great many months since I have written to you, and for that I apologize. I also apologize for not being at my very best the night we met in London. In truth, I don't believe I have ever seen you in London until that night. I had forgotten how glamorous you could be. I had forgotten radiant you are. I had forgotten that you are Downton's true heiress._

_Mary, I can see in your eyes the words unsaid and our meeting has only confirmed my own fears. When I left Downton, I said I had to return to real life. Although the war has thus far proven all too real for me I hadn't realized that you didn't give up on me and you hadn't given up on us. Maybe, a part of that is my fault. I should have let you know when I enlisted. I should have let you know firsthand that I was going to war. And for all of that; I am deeply sorry. I realize now, how much I had hurt you and how selfish I was._

_You deserve Downton and I will keep it for you. Know that right now I am tempting fate, for once and for you, that I will return from this war alive and return your home. Consider that my apology for all of the pain I have caused you through my insecurity and indecision._

_There is so much more that I wish I had been in our time together. I wish I had been braver, I wish I could have been kinder, I wish I could have been more understanding. If this war has taught me anything, it is how much we need to be brave and kind and understanding. I wish I had married you. All this, I wish and I dream and I regret with my every memory of you. But I am not the man that I was before the war and I am afraid I have been made worse by it. I feel as though I am more savage, more beastly. Had being a middle class solicitor been unsuitable for one such as yourself, imagine the wretched man I have become. But if I cannot change the past for you, I can secure your future. When I return, you will be the master of the house and I will be glad._

_Yours truly,_

_Matthew_

**June 19th, 1915**

_Dearest Matthew,_

_I have read and reread your letter countless times. I have folded and refolded the paper until the creases have worn so thin that to read it again I have copied it onto another piece of stationery. I have read it at breakfast, in the gardens of Grantham House, in church,I have memorized every word, every stroke, every apology._

_But you, most of all, must know my feelings towards you. Even if I have kept them hidden from the world, even from the rest of Downton, you must know that I still want to be with you, whoever you are. Come home and let me prove it._

_I freely admit that I am not an easy girl to love and I can see now the foolishness of my past decisions. I had a chance at happiness with you and I ruined it. Youth has a way of obscuring what matters and what doesn't. Too late did I realize you mattered. I know the war has been horrible to you. You may not have known it and maybe you have tried to hide it but I can see the weariness in your eyes. I saw them that cold April night. I still see them in my dreams._

_I know that you feel lost and I am powerless to ease it all. I can only tell you that, despite what you have said to me, what I have said to you through all these years, Downton is your home. And when you decide to return; I will be waiting._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Mary_


	10. Part 1: June to August

**June 30th, 1915**

_Dearest cousin,_

_I see it in your subtle expressions that when you look into my eyes I feel as though you are seeing a future; practicing words and phrases that are yet unsaid, mouthing names of children we do not have, experiencing emotions not yet real. I know this, because there was a time, when I saw all of them when I looked upon you. Now, I only see your potential for grief, and nothing else._

_It's not that I see no future for us. But the one you hold and that one I knew is no longer and cannot be. Not anymore, not after what I've seen, what I've experienced. There is the present, and at the present moment I am still alive and that is all that I am and can be certain._

_Simply put, I cannot make plans. I simply cannot, doing so would be untrue of me and unfair to you. Mary, I cannot promise you this dynasty. I cannot promise you the world as it was, as it should. I see death, I see death all around in the trenches, and even when I am in London, all I see is dust._

_I know all of this must sound terribly depressing to you and to be perfectly honest, I've put words to page far too many times tonight. And I simply cannot continue. I apologize for my mood._

_Yours truly,_

_Matthew_

**July 12th, 1915**

_Dearest Matthew,_

_I am glad to hear from you again. You seemed to have misunderstood me. I am not asking for any promises. I am not asking for a future. I am simply asking to be part of your present. My greatest fear in life right now, which I say without exaggeration, is that you will shut me out and bear the front lines yourself; that I cannot bring myself to allow you to do._

_If the world has thus decided that you must be a soldier; a warrior, let the world recognize that I will not and have not abandoned you. I did once before, I cannot and will not make that mistake again._

_Matthew, you can be however you are with me. You need no formalities with me, you need not be polite. Perhaps once, when I was young and foolish, but no more. Matthew, I simply ask that you talk to me, honestly and sincerely. I am not asking you to make plans. I am merely asking for your current thoughts, so that you may not be so alone. And you are lonely, I saw it on your face and the way you put your words to page._

_I apologize if I over-stepped, I still do have the tendency to voice my opinions when they are not welcome. _

_In any case, I hope that you are well and that you are safe._

_Best wishes always,_

_Mary_

**July 27th, 1915**

_Dear Mary,_

_I can see now that I am not going to scare you away. In truth I am very glad. As you have no doubt surmised, there are bad and worse nights here. Sometimes, we cannot be counted upon to be men. Some days, we are little more than ghosts. My days have gotten duller again. Two months with another regiment and back into the hole you go. I must admit I do miss the perks of being an aristocrat._

_But when you look over the trenches and you see the miles upon miles of battlements, and the sheer destruction we have made. No earl can calm the sorrows of men, no duke can tame the raging spirits of war, no man has any power over himself. It would seem, providence has not blessed us after all._

_I'm sorry again, but my mind tends to wander. You keep these thoughts in your head for so long and with no one to speak it to and no one to listen you just naturally feel inclined to express it all, somehow. I should be asking about the family. How are things? How are your parents? How are your sisters? How is Carson?_

_I hope that all is well in your life. I am starting to get settled back in. I have received news that Captain Timothy Kirby has recently passed away from his injuries. It is a sad thing. I'm not sure if the news has reached Robert but I'm sure he'll want to know. And can you deliver the card I have attached to this letter to the Kirby's? I would very much like to pay my respects to them._

_Thank you again, for being supportive and patient in this time. By the way, I will be in London at the end of August. If you have not yet left back to Downton, I will be on leave starting on the 20__th__._

_Sincerely,_

_Matthew_

**August 11th, 1915**

_Dear Matthew,_

_I will be in London until the last week of September. I will be at Claridge's. Shall we meet for tea on Saturday? I'm sorry, I shouldn't open my letter this way but I would very much like to see you again before I go back to Yorkshire._

_I did end up delivering your card to the Kirbys. They were very grateful and they thank you. They know that you did all that you could, and so do I. I know this gets said all too often, or perhaps, not often enough, but we are all so very proud of you. Papa wishes you well and hopes that you can come back to Downton on leave one of these days. Mama sends her love. Edith, Sybil, and I bought you this book. It's a copy of the first edition, The Wealth of Nations. I see you eyeing it off papa's shelf all the time. And the times you do manage to take it off the shelf and read a couple of pages, you seemed to always be called away. And since you haven't much to do in the trenches, we'd all thought that you would enjoy reading it now._

_Carson also sends his regards and wishes you courage and luck. As do I. We think alike, more than most people know._

_I look forward to seeing you in time. Until then, keep safe._

_All the best,_

_Mary_

**Inside Cover of The Wealth of Nations**

Interestingly enough, despite Mary writing that it was from all three of them; the personal message was from her alone.

_Dearest Matthew,_

_I do indeed hope that, despite our troubling times, you maintain, somehow through all of this, your unblemished optimism. And I hope that this book reminds you of the virtuous qualities of the grand project of man._

_Mary_


	11. Part 1: The Tea Room

**The Tea Room**

**August 20th, 1915**

_Accounts of Matthew Crawley_

He fiddled around with the packaging of the cigarette in his pocket as he watched the gentle English countryside passed him by. In the distance he could see the imposing mega-structure that was the great capital of the empire. His mood had increased considerably after the incident with The Carabiniers during the Second Battle of Ypres. It wasn't the first time he had encountered an enemy but it was the first time he had surely, undeniably, killed someone. It changed him, more than he was willing to admit. At least to the world, Mary had been such a loyal and caring pen pal that he was thinking about actually telling her what was happening and what had happened to him. But he didn't want her to see him as a murderer.

The train was timely and he arrived at Paddington station a few minutes early. Matthew looked around the station apprehensively. Standing on the platform was someone familiar. The slender soft features of her face and her fiery red hair stood out to him despite only having ever met her once. Poised as ever; she scanned the windows of the train.

When the train came to a complete stop, Matthew stepped off and greeted her.

"Miss Lavinia Swire, I believe." Matthew said politely.

"You have a good memory, Lieutenant." Lavinia replied with a warm smile.

"How could I forget such a face as yours?" Matthew complimented her.

"Don't flatter me." Lavinia blushed.

"What are you doing here?" Matthew asked genuinely.

"I'm here to pick you up, actually." Lavinia answered.

"Me? Heavens, why? What have I done?" Matthew said trying to summon some of that pre-war charm.

"Nothing, silly." Lavinia giggled. "My father has invited you for lunch. He was eager to have you over once more after your last letter informed him of your leave. But he couldn't get another letter to you before you were already back."

"So Reggie sent you?" Matthew asked.

"I know." Lavinia paused. "Subtly isn't my father's strength. But, regardless. Here am I. Would you like to join us?"

Matthew paused but not for a moment too long. "I'd be delighted to."

Matthew picked up his suitcase and felt the weight of it in his hand. He looked around at the grand train station. No one noticed him. He may not have been an earl at that moment but for the past few years of his life he had been treated with great honour and privilege. But he was not that. Not here, in the city where no one knows your name if you wish it. Where you can be whomever you want. Where millions come to start their lives or reinvent themselves, here, once the feeling of anonymity came upon him, with a smiling girl on his arm, carrying his own suitcase, he felt as though there may have yet be a life for him, now and in the future.

* * *

**August 21st, 1915**

_Accounts of Mary and Matthew Crawley_

She hadn't slept that night, not much anyways. She has been nervous about seeing him, far more than she had initially thought. But she was excited about it. She hadn't told Matthew that the rest of her family had already left for Downton. She hadn't told him that she was staying in London all by herself. She hadn't told him that she waited, especially for him. There were so many things she hadn't told him. There were so many things that she felt she could only tell him in time.

Mary stood in the lobby of Claridge's nervously. She periodically stared at the clock; checking the time as often as three times a minute. The last time she had seen Matthew, he rode off on a horse. _How magnificent he looked_, she remembered. A world removed from the workaday lawyer she had first encountered at Crawley House all those years ago.

Not ten minutes later, he appeared at the door. Almost as he did the first time he laid eyes on her. That look of awe that he would try to hide, sometimes successfully, sometimes not, this time he was not successful. Mary descended the staircase to greet him.

"I hope you weren't lying when you wrote that I need not be formal with you." Matthew said as he took off his barrack's cap.

Mary simply smiled.

"Come, I have a table reserved." Mary said calmly.

Mary led him into the tea room and sat down at a reserved table. They took their seats tentatively. It was the first time they have sat down together, properly and alone, in two years. Matthew fidgeted with his silverware. Mary observed him curiously.

"I'm sorry for my rudeness. It's been a while since I had to eat _properly_." Matthew explained.

"I meant what I said." Mary said. "You need not be proper with me. Besides, I remember how much you didn't care for that type of thing anyways."

"To be perfectly honest, I do miss it." Matthew replied. "I'm afraid oatmeal and bread becomes dull very quickly."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Mary said politely.

"It's fine." Matthew said. "I'm just happy to be out of there for a little while."

"How long are you on leave for?" Mary asked.

"A few weeks. Then I'll be back in the dirt." Matthew answered with a smile.

"Did you get the book we sent you?" Mary inquired.

"Yes, I did. It is fantastic and a great way for me to pass the time." Matthew said delightedly. "Thank you so much. Thank Edith and Sybil as well."

"Of course I will." Mary said with a smile.

A few moments later the tea arrived with a waiter. Mary and Matthew sat quietly as the waiter served them. They both offered him a courteous smile before he left.

"The rest of the family are actually back at Downton." Mary continued. "I'm staying in with Aunt Rosamund until the end of September."

"You must really love London." Matthew commented.

"I'd say so." Mary answered demurely. "But the season has been very disappointing this year."

"Not many prospects I'd imagine." Matthew remarked recalling his last visit.

"I was very glad you came back." Mary said with her signature half-smile.

"Well, a chance to ride a horse again and to feel important again." Matthew smiled back while taking a sip. "How could I say no?"

"You will always be important to me." Mary said.

Matthew paused at the words. He closed his eyes for a moment and put his tea cup down on the saucer. A slow exhale emerged from his breath.

"I'd wish you wouldn't say things like that." Matthew said in a sombre tone.

"Why not?" Mary asked.

"Because it makes me want to come back." Matthew answered with a sudden quivering voice. "It makes me want to go back to Downton."

"Matthew." Mary persisted. "Downton is and always will be your home."

"No. It's your home. And I knew it was wrong then, I'm sure of it now. I shouldn't have taken it away from you." Matthew said.

"Matthew, the entail is not your fault." Mary explained.

"Maybe, but I didn't consider you then." Matthew said again, trying to keep his emotions in control. "Not as much as I should have."

"I'm still living there now and for the foreseeable future." Mary said calmly and slowly. "There's no need for remorse just yet."

"It's hard to see my future." Matthew said as he regained his composure. "I wish I could fix anything right now."

"But you can't. And you mustn't put so much pressure on yourself." Mary replied.

Again the conversation fell silent between the two. Mary looked down at her hands. She slightly pulled at her gloves. Matthew had lost his quick wit and his sunny demeanour. Not a word was said.

The sounds of the city and the ambient conversations around them had taken hold of their attention. Outside, Mary could see the faces of children playing as their mother tried to hurry them along. She watched as the mass of Edwardian fashions passed by draped on thousands upon thousands of inhabitants, none she knew, none she would ever know. Matthew lifted his gaze to observe the others in the tea room; none that he knew personally, few that he could even pick out. Even the generals in uniform, he didn't recognize. For a moment, as they sat there watching anonymously, they realized their place in their aged empire; stuck in an ever-regressing love affair, as the rest of the world forgets their existence.

"Matthew, I have to ask you something." Mary said, finally breaking their silence.

"What is it?" Matthew asked.

"Why did you kiss me last time?" Mary asked plainly.

Matthew paused once again and dropped his head.

"I was hoping that you would have already forgotten about that." He said.

"Matthew…" Mary said with a concerned voice.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to remember what your kiss felt like." Matthew finally confessed. "One last time."

"Does this mean…" Mary tried to ask.

"It doesn't matter what it means, Mary. I shouldn't have kissed you. I am truly sorry." Matthew apologized.

"Matthew, you know how I feel." Mary said echoing the words of her letters.

"I know and I'm sorry, if any of this has left you confused. And I know much of this is my fault but… I think…" Matthew suddenly stopped.

"What?" Mary urged.

Matthew considered his words. He considered what they might mean, to him and to her. He considered the future of Downton and the consequences of what he was about to and wanted to say. And he said them anyways.

"I think it is time I let you go."

Perhaps, he thought it was for the best.


	12. Part 1: Empire's End

**Empire's End**

**October 18th, 1915**

_Accounts of Mathew Crawley_

Matthew watched as the trail of uniforms and dancing dust drew closer. As they approached, he could start to make out the faces of the soldiers returning. As he had grown accustom to, the faces of the men resembled the scowls of the stone gargoyles he had known in his childhood churches. Either the battle went well or it didn't. It didn't really matter, very few times did the determination of the fight do anything to change the mood of the soldiers whom just recently so bloodied themselves.

"That's it for ol' French." One of the soldiers under his command said as he momentarily joined him to watch the procession of the returning divisions.

"Yeah?" Matthew asked rhetorically still watching the crowd.

"They'll never let him keep his command now." The soldier said as he took a cigarette out of his pocket. "This isn't Africa, and this isn't the wars he knew."

"War has changed." Matthew remarked.

"Precisely." The soldier said as he lit the cigarette.

"Looks like ol' Haig is going to get his turn after all." Matthew said.

"Well, it was only a matter of time." The soldier said as he handed the cigarette to Matthew. "You know him right?"

"Well I know General Strutt and he knows Haig." Matthew said as he took a drag. "So yes, I know him by proximity."

"What's he like?" The soldier asked.

"What are generals like?" Matthew asked rhetorically with a devilish smile while handing back the cigarette back.

Matthew brought his own cigarette from his pocket to his mouth. The cold had returned and he found that he smoked more during the winter months. But after nearly two years of fighting, he realized he could stand just about anything. He had noticed that the days didn't feel as long and the nights no longer seemed as dark. In the first few months, he could keep the weight of his muscles torturing him as he moved along the trenches. Now his muscles carried him and made him better. There was a time when he feared his own vision and the next atrocity that they would forever imprint into his mind. Now, his eyes were the stalwart watchmen for himself and his battalion.

No longer did he feel like a pretender in a uniform. No longer was he a lawyer masquerading as a warrior. No longer was he a false-claimant to the Earldom of Grantham. Like the lords of old, like Cromwell, like Nelson, like King Harry at Agincourt, like the Lionheart, he now too knew the meaning of duty. He now too, had been tempered by battle's flames. _It was a curious thing; _he noted as he spent his days in the trenches watching his fellow aristocratic officers crumble under the weight of this _world war_. Where others had succumbed to the fate of shell-shock and insanity, he could only feel his own spirits being lifted. Perhaps, that had something to do with his middle-class upbringing. Perhaps it had something to do with his pragmatic nature. Or perhaps, for the first time in a very long time, he could see through the fog of war to a place beyond.

He had lived through many harrowing days and survived the most wretched nights. He could feel himself giving his everything into this conflict. But it was no longer destroying him. It was no longer consuming him. War, its very concept and the nature of its existence and his place in it, no longer compelled in him a deep despair but rather a peaceful resignation. He may very well die on these fields but he had already resolved that he had no future.

And with nothing to lose; without Mary to lose, he had everything to gain. He fought each day with the general mood of the songs that he had learned. His morbid sense of the present, combined with his innate optimism brought him and his men through the days and nights with relative clarity. In many ways, the men of his regiment, at varying degrees of development, experienced the same things. They were veterans of this war by now. They shared their experience, one that no one outside of them would ever understand. Simultaneously, Matthew became ever more the lord-commander and ever more the common man. They knew this life, they knew the trenches, and they knew death. And they were no longer afraid.

There were bad days, as with any day in anyone's life, but no longer was it cause for deep despair. No longer was this war going to take anything from them; in a sense, it had already taken all it could. It took their hope.

_It was for the best_, Matthew thought.

He sat on his helmet gazing at the sunset over the soft but devastated countryside of France. How many battles were fought here? How many men had lost their lives here? Not just now, but through the centuries. How many Englishmen had fought French knights on this exact ground? How times had changed. Matthew thought it was quite funny. From his tin mug he sipped his tea. The frontline trenches were miles in the opposite direction. He was on patrol tomorrow morning but for tonight he intended to enjoy what time he did have to himself.

He thought he might want to write something about the sunset. He reached into his breast pocket for his notepad but found an envelope. He had almost forgotten about it. He received it earlier in the day but he had been busy. Lavinia's letters came like clockwork. He enjoyed reading them. They contained mostly news from London and stories about what was happening in her life. Sometimes she would include comics from the newspaper that she thought he would find amusing. He almost always did. Her letters were lighter than Mary's. She was always cheerful, almost optimistic, and even during the worst of his nights, Matthew felt utterly embarrassed to write back with any kind of self-indulgent sadness that he had grown so accustomed to during his correspondence with Mary. Lavinia made him feel like a new man; a new man for a new age.

As he slid his bayonet blade into the fold of the envelope, Matthew watched as the last rays of sunset disappeared behind the tree line. He could see it then, like the last flickers of light of the day, so too were these the last days of the empire. So too were these the last days of the aristocracy. And so too was his life at Downton and Mary, now naught but a distant dream.


End file.
